I ordered afternoon tea for Pons and myself and waited, glancing idly about the room. The place was full and the agreeable hum of muted conversation drifted up to the beamed ceiling. I should have been extremely content if it had not been for the strange incident in the crypt and my pique continued as the minutes passed and my companion had still not appeared. The waitress had already brought the tea, the buttered scones and the selection of cakes before Pons hurried through the door to join me.
As he did so he almost collided with the bearded man; the latter drew back with an apology for he had thrust his way through the door with unceremonious haste. Pons stood back and beckoned him forward with a gracious gesture, a smile on his lips. The bearded man continued over to the girl’s table and as he sat down I could see from his hunched shoulders and strained tense attitude that the row we had witnessed in the crypt was continuing in this more salubrious atmosphere.
Pons sat down opposite me and rubbed his thin hands, looking at the delicacies on the table before us with keen anticipation.
“Excellent, Parker. I can see that this holiday will suit me. Even Mrs Johnson could not have done better.”
“You may well say so, Pons,” I rejoined, my spirits rising considerably. “But where on earth have you been? I was afraid the tea would become cold.”
“No fear of that, Parker,” said Pons, holding out his cup for the sparkling measure I poured for him. “I was just engaged in a pleasant conversation with the young lady at the reception desk.”
I looked at him in surprise.
“For what purpose, Pons?”
Solar Pons chuckled.
“Surely it is self-evident. I was merely trying to establish the identity of our fellow guest. I told the young lady I thought he was a friend I had met in America. She obligingly looked him up in the register. He is Herr Karl Koch of Stuttgart. He has been staying here for three days.”
The resentment and surprise in my eyes must have shown for my companion had mischievous little glints dancing in his own.
“Come, Parker. I have no wish to let such poor ratiocinative gifts as I possess rust in this mellow holiday atmosphere. I must confess I am curious and decided to find out a little more about this oddly assorted couple.”
“So long as it is only that, Pons. I have no wish to see the holiday spoiled.”
“And neither have I, my dear fellow. Though some little problem in our present genteel surroundings would constitute the perfect holiday for me.”
I thought it wiser to say nothing further on those grounds and sought to divert Pons but it was obvious by the way his deep-set eyes were glancing over the far table that he was deeply interested in Koch and his companion.
“You did not find out anything about the young lady, Pons?” I put in mischievously.
He shook his head.
“Miss Elise is not staying here, Parker.”
“I am surprised that you do not simply ask Mr Koch if the thing we found in the crypt belongs to him, Pons?”
My companion shook his head, a faint smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.
“That would spoil the game entirely, Parker. I have a mind to hold on to it for a little while. It can do no harm, surely, and I understand our strange friend is staying here for several days longer.”
I glanced at the animated couple again. you wish, Pons. Pray try these excellent scones; they are still hot.”
But it was evident that though Pons ate heartily and enjoyed the tea his mind was elsewhere. Three times I saw him shoot penetrating glances in the direction of the other table and long after the couple had disappeared he had an abstracted air about him.
We had finished the meal and were about to withdraw from the lounge when there came an interruption. A short, rather shabby-looking little old man in dark clothes had been hovering about at the entrance to the great room. I had noticed him at the cash-desk talking to the manageress and now I found him at my elbow, his eyes deferential and apologetic.
“Mr Pons? Mr Solar Pons?”
“This is he,” I said, indicating my companion.
“I am sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but we are in some trouble. The Dean sent me specially.”
Solar Pons smiled, sitting upright in his chair in an alert and wide-awake manner.
“Will you not introduce yourself? I must confess your sentence makes little sense at the moment.”
The little man looked confused and shot an apologetic glance at the manageress over Pons’ shoulder and then at my friend himself.
“My apologies, sir. My name is Miggs. I am the Head Verger at the Cathedral yonder. Strange things have been happening.”
“Indeed?”
Solar Pons’ eyebrows were drawn across his brows in a hard, straight line.
“Will you not sit down and tell us about it?”
Our strange visitor shook his head.
“My thumb is still sore, gentlemen, and the Dean himself bade me make haste.”
“You seem determined to present us with an enigma, Mr Miggs,” said Solar Pons with a dry laugh.
“I take it you want us to come with you?”
“If you would be so good, sir. The thing is so mysterious, you see.”
“May I ask how you knew I was at this hotel?”
“The Manager of the hotel, sir, worships at the Cathedral. Of course he’s well-known in Norwich and when the Dean was speaking about our troubles yesterday Mr Kellaway immediately said you were coming to stay here today. I do hope it has not caused any offence…”
“By no means,” said Solar Pons, rising from his seat.
“Mr Kellaway would have spoken of it himself, sir,” continued Mr Miggs apologetically, “but he’s been called away today. He telephoned the Dean who asked me to come straight here.”
Solar Pons smiled thinly as I got up and indicated my willingness to accompany him.
“Am I to understand that the Dean of Norwich himself wishes to consult me on some matter?”
The little man flushed.
“Begging your pardon, sir, explaining things is not my strong suit. You have hit it exactly, Mr Pons. Canon Stacey is a charming gentleman and is quite at his wit’s end. We all are, I can tell you. Such goings-on!”
He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief he took from the side pocket of his old black coat.
“I know it’s your holiday, sir, but if you could spare some time we’d all be grateful. The Canon’s house is in the Close, quite nearby. Just a step, sir.”
He delivered his monologue with such a rueful, apologetic air that I had a job to keep a straight face, however irritated I might feel at this potential interruption to our holiday.
“Very well. Let us go there straight away,” said Solar Pons crisply. “You can tell us about your thumb on the way. You must find your work at the Cathedral a great deal different from shoe repairs.”
“Eigh?”
Mr Miggs looked at Pons in great astonishment, his mouth all drawn up on one side. His eyes had a strange expression in them.
“How on earth could you possibly know that, Mr Pons?” “Ah, I am correct then?”
“I was in the trade for more than thirty years, sir.”
“That accounts for the calluses on your thumb where you hold the leather as you shape it on your last. They are quite distinctive. When I see in addition that your left shoulder is slightly lower than your right I conclude that you are right-handed and that you have been in the habit of bending over your work in the manner peculiar to cobblers. Thirty years of that would certainly have its effect on your physique and it is typical of the trade.”
Mr Miggs continued to stare at my companion in astonishment.
“Wonderful, Mr Pons! Wonderful!” he breathed. “Canon Stacey will be pleased. Mr Kellaway said you had miraculous powers of reasoning, sir, but I did not realise you would demonstrate them so soon.”